


physical exercise

by DeconstructedIronhide (InsertCoolName)



Series: Sinday Drabbles [2]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: BV Ironhide, Face-Fucking, IDW Blackcomb, It's getting there, M/M, Oral Sex, Other, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, well talks about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-21 19:50:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17049509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsertCoolName/pseuds/DeconstructedIronhide
Summary: There's a joke about physical exercise on the tip of Ironhide's glossa.





	physical exercise

**Author's Note:**

> A drabble prompt featuring @askblackcomb's OC Blackcomb. Not beta read.

There’s a joke about physical exercise on the tip of Ironhide’s glossa.

Looking up at Blackcomb, Ironhide hums as he draws his helm back. He’ll keep it to himself for now; after all, his glossa is a bit busy at the moment, dragging along the underside of Blackcomb’s spike before reaching the head and toying with the slit. Blackcomb tosses his helm back with a groan, his grip on Ironhide’s finials tightening before slackining. Ironhide hums again, this time in appreciation - they’re  _ sensitive _ , after all - and slowly moves back down the spike.

Above him, Blackcomb curses, leaning his helm forward to look back down at him. “Frag, mech, you’re good at this.” He rubs at a finial as he speaks. Ironhide presses into it slightly, but otherwise simply continues working at the spike, thoroughly exploring it with his glossa before moving back up again at the same slow pace. “Who’d’ve thought. Ironhide, good on his knees, good at taking a spike.” He gives a breathy laugh. “Primus.”

Ironhide would smirk if he was able to. As it is, he cocks an optic ridge, giving a light scrape of dentae one the next glide down and making Blackcomb shudder. He’s still going at that same slow pace, and it’s pretty obvious Blackcomb wants  _ more _ . Ironhide can feel his restraint, how tense his thighs are under his servos and how careful he is about holding onto Ironhide’s finials. He gives yet another appreciative hum, the sound turning into a purr when it draws more expletives from the other mech.

Nearing the base of Blackcomb’s spike, Ironhide swallows around it, once, twice, and the pulls back one last time, letting it slip out of his intake. Blackcomb groans, making Ironhide chuckle darkly. He moves his helm a bit, as if to shake Blackcomb’s servos off of his finials.

“Move them?” he says, sliding his own servos from Blackcomb’s thighs to his hips. “You can hold on, just not there.”

Blackcomb rubs his finial again before doing as Ironhide asked. “Got something planned, old mech?” he asks, making Ironhide narrow his optics and rumble in amusement. He taps his digits against his plating and leans back in, licking a stripe up the bottom of Blackcomb’s spike.

“I’d say so,” he replies, pausing to give another lick. He shifts a bit, resettling his weight, and looks up at Blackcomb with a tilt of his helm. “What would you say if I told you I wanted you to frag my face?”


End file.
